


Laid Bare

by Persiflager



Series: It Started Quietly [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/10038.html?thread=51626038">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme that asked for Lestrade and John's first time without a condom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laid Bare

Greg almost felt like a teenager again, lying on the bed in John’s small, neat bedroom at the top of the house and snogging him as if they had all the time in the world. The plain blue bed linen and rugby photos on the wall certainly felt right, but there were a few subtle differences. 

First, there wouldn’t have been an erection digging into his stomach back then. Girls were for taking home, boys were for eyeing up at a discreet distance and wanking about later.

Second, they would have had more clothes on between them than a pair of socks (his) and a t-shirt (John’s, hiked up around his armpits).

And third, if John had flung one leg over his hip, unsubtly spreading himself wide, it wouldn’t even have occurred to Greg to slick his fingers up and gradually work them inside until John was muttering curses and endearments in equal measure.

“Christ,” he murmured as he kissed John’s nose, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I could do this all day.” His cock was sliding about under John’s balls, slippery with lube and pre-come.

“That’s - _uh_ \- fine by me,” said John, breathing heavily on Greg’s face, his hand clutching the back of Greg’s head. “More than– _oh_ , don’t you dare stop.”

“Can you come like this?” Greg crooked his fingers and John shuddered.

“I don’t know. Maybe. How patient are you feeling?”

Greg grinned against John’s kiss-swollen lips. Pausing for a moment to give his hand a rest, he idly stroked John’s perineum with his thumb.

“I’m feeling _this_ patient very well. Hang on, that’s the wrong way round – doesn’t work if you’re the doctor. Have you got a white coat handy I can put on?”

John gave a low groan and rocked his hips so that he was fucking himself on Greg’s fingers.

“Maybe I should have mentioned that doctor-patient role-play doesn’t – _ah_ \- do it for me. How would you like it if I asked you to be a sexy policeman?”

John was now rubbing back and forth across Greg’s cock in a wet, tantalising slide.

Greg’s priorities shifted.

“I _am_ a sexy policeman. And I wouldn’t mind. Do you want to have a go on my truncheon?” Trembling his fingers, Greg found the exact speed that turned John’s exasperated groan into one of ‘fuck-me-now’ desperation.

“Ah, _fuck_. Yes, but only if you promise never to say that again.”

“I’m not promising anything,” said Greg cheerfully as he pulled his fingers out. He sat up with a stretch before taking advantage of the pause to pull his socks off and drop them on the floor with the rest of their hastily discarded clothes. 

He reached over to the bedside table and pulled the box of condoms out of the drawer.

“Ah.”

“What?” asked John, raising himself up on his elbows and into the pool of yellow light cast by the bedside lamp. His eyes focussed on the empty condom box in Greg’s hand.

“Shit. Sorry, I meant to pick some more up today.”

Greg looked at John, hard and naked, with shadows throwing the contours of his body into sharp relief.

“Does it matter? I don’t mind if you don’t.”

John drummed his fingers on the bed.

“When was your last physical, and how many sexual partners have you had since then?”

“Six months ago. And one.”

A smile tugged at the corner of John’s mouth. He licked his lips. “Good enough.” He sat up, pulled his t-shirt off, lay back down and folded one arm under his head.

Greg slicked his cock up with a liberal handful of lube. He looked up to see John stroking his cock lightly with his free hand.

“Comfortable, then?”

John shrugged. “I’m alright.”

Greg climbed over so that he was kneeling between John’s widespread thighs. Leaning forward, he braced himself on one forearm and let his knees slide further apart so that his cock was rubbing against the mattress. 

“You’re a bit of alright, is what you are.” He took his slippery cock in hand and slid it over John’s entrance and between his cheeks, feeling out what he’d explored already with tongue and fingers – the heat of John’s balls, the tight crinkle of his arsehole, the slight tickle of hair on his buttocks.

When he’d finished exploring, he pressed his cock against John’s welcoming hole and paused. 

“Chuck us a pillow.”

John passed a pillow down and helpfully raised his hips so that Greg could arrange it underneath to his satisfaction. He aimed his cock again and nodded.

“Better.” He pushed slowly in.

_Fuck_. He’d forgotten just how much getting rid of that thin layer of latex changed things. He pulled out and pushed back in even more slowly, savouring the sensations on the sensitive head of his cock, revelling in the intimacy, and continued rocking back and forth until his entire cock was buried in John’s body. 

He set his free arm down on the other side of John’s head so that he was resting on both forearms and his face was just inches from John’s. John was a _mess_ \- red-faced, chest heaving, biting his lip, his free hand now clutching at the sheet. 

John opened his lovely dark blue eyes and looked at Greg. “Hello.”

Greg grinned at him. “Hi.” He carefully withdrew before pushing back in. “How’s that feel?”

“Good. It’s just … _more_.”

“You,” Greg said, kissing John’s arched neck between breaths, “feel _fantastic_.” 

He flexed his hips. John exhaled sharply.

“You don’t feel too bad yourself,” he said quietly, voice cracking as he thrust up to meet Greg. 

Greg fucked him with short, sharp strokes as their bodies rocked together. The world outside the bedroom had disappeared. All he was aware of was what he could feel: the hot squeeze as he slid his shaft in and out, the wet smear of John’s cock rubbing against his stomach, the cotton sheet crumpled beneath his knees and arms, John’s breath loud and moist against his ear, and the rough, reddened skin of John’s jaw and neck as Greg kept kissing, biting and mouthing, unable to take his lips away, wanting to mark him so that everyone would know Greg had had him.

That sparked a thought, and jealousy flamed up his spine. “What about you then?”

“What about me?” panted John.

“Have you shagged anyone else?” Greg thrust harder at that, driving into John until he gasped.

“No.” 

“Good.” As quickly as it had flared up, the fire dwindled and went out. Greg slowed so that he could press a gentle, almost-chaste kiss against John’s soft lips. Taking his time, he gradually deepened the kiss until it was as dirty as it was slow, and he was utterly lost.

John dug his heels sharply into Greg’s buttocks. 

Greg opened his eyes to see an impatient glare. He laughed and snatched one more quick kiss. “Since you asked nicely.”

He pulled out, sat up and hooked his hands under John’s knees so that he could push them up towards his chest.

“Hold yourself a minute, would you?”

John grabbed his legs and spread himself with only the slightest hesitation.

Greg stared for a moment at the sight of John, shamelessly exposed for him, then leant down and pushed back into John with one firm thrust. He replaced John’s hands with his own, using his bodyweight to push John’s legs up higher, and snapped his hips forward.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” hissed John.

Greg swivelled his hips, experimenting with different angles as John stroked himself, knuckles dragging up and down Greg’s stomach. Just to be a tease, he tried staying still for a few moments, and watched the muscles of John’s torso ripple and contract as he rocked his body upwards, fucking himself on Greg’s cock.

Greg’s patience quickly gave out. He leant down and tried to raise one of John’s legs over his shoulder.

“Ow!” 

“Sorry.”

John’s legs weren’t long enough to make that comfortable so Greg settled for bracing his hands flat on the bed either side of John’s chest and using his upper arms to keep John’s legs in position.

“Oh yeah,” he groaned, rolling his hips forward, driving in deep. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

John _whined_. “Fuck, fuck , fuck, _yes_. Don’t stop.”

Greg abandoned all thoughts of teasing and fucked John with steady, decisive thrusts as pleasure rose through his body in slow, inevitable waves.

The knuckles brushing against his stomach disappeared as John suddenly gripped the headboard, face screwed up and breathing harsh. He opened his eyes wide and looked at Greg.

“Make me come,” he rasped. “I’m nearly there.”

Arousal sparked in Greg’s balls. 

“ _Yeah_. But I’ll come in you,” he warned, barely conscious of forming words. “Make you filthy.”

John nodded. “Yes, I want you to, _please_.”

Greg sped up, pounding away at John’s arse, ignoring the ache in his arms.

“That’s it, there, I’m coming, oh _fuck!_ ” 

Greg closed his eyes in concentration as John tightened around him, fucking relentlessly with the last shreds of his self-control. When John finally relaxed, Greg let himself thrust deeply until he came so hard he felt dizzy.

He dropped John’s legs to the bed, let his face fall into the damp crook of John’s neck and lay there as his breath slowed and John stroked meaningless patterns on his back. Greg’s cock soon softened and slipped out but he stayed where he was, luxuriating in the warm, humid decadence of it. His cock and balls were sticky with come, his stomach appeared to be glued to John’s, and his muscles ached with satisfaction.

“Blimey,” said John eventually. “That was ... wow.”

“Mm.” A drop of sweat meandered down his back. He could feel more come slowly dripping out of John onto his cock, which pleased him in a weirdly primitive way.

“I feel _disgusting_ ,” said John, pushing ineffectually at Greg’s side.

“ _Mm_ ,” Greg hummed happily. He dug his toes into the mattress and stretched, feeling his tacky skin pull away from John’s with reluctance, and pushed himself up just long enough for John to roll out from under him.

There was a rustle of tissues. The bed dipped as John climbed off. 

“Back in a minute.”

“Nrg,” mumbled Greg into the pillow. He stirred himself enough to grab a couple of tissues and wipe himself off before collapsing again.

After what seemed like a few seconds, John was back.

“Not dashing off then?” he said as he climbed into bed. “Budge up.”

Greg rolled onto his side. “That alright with you?”

“Yeah.” John pulled the duvet up and flicked the light off. 

Greg stretched his hand out until he encountered John’s waist, then tugged himself forward so that he could spoon John.

“I still can’t believe you’re a cuddler.”

“Shut up and take it like a man.” Greg wrapped one arm round John and they lay there peacefully, just breathing. Greg’s mind drifted gradually back to earlier that evening.

He’d taken John out to dinner at the new Thai place round the corner. It had been one of the best evenings he’d had in years; they’d barely had time to eat in between talking and laughing and at one point he’d looked at John across the table, face animated as he told a story Greg had heard before, and thought ‘I could hear you tell that story a hundred times without getting bored’. 

But who was he kidding? A recently divorced copper with high blood pressure who was too close to fifty – he couldn’t think of many worse prospects for a relationship. This was just a casual shag between mates, and he’d be a fool to think anything different. 

John’s hand joined his, fingers shyly tangling together, and Greg thought _Bugger that._

“John.”

“Mm?”

“Do you want to see other people?”

“No,” said John without hesitation. “Do you?”

“No.” 

“Good.”

“Good.” Greg placed a kiss on the back of John’s neck – a brief, delicate press of the lips to stand in for the sudden and overwhelming wave of emotion that had flooded him from head to toe, because if Greg didn’t keep his lips busy there was a very real danger that all that emotion would come rushing out of his mouth in a torrent of ridiculous words.

John squeezed his hand in response, then twisted round to kiss him properly.

“So, this is a relationship,” John said drily when he had settled back into position.

“Looks like,” said Greg, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of John’s hand and marvelling in the simple intimacy. 

“Hm,” said John as he leant back against Greg. “I think I like it.”

“You _love_ it.”

“Sh. Go to sleep.”

Smiling, Greg obeyed.

...

By the time he woke up the next morning John had rolled away to the other side of the bed, which Greg might have taken personally if John hadn’t also shoved the duvet down to his waist. 

_Christ, you’re warm. I wonder if you’ll mind me sticking my cold feet on you when it’s winter._

Greg reached over John to pick his mobile off the bedside table.

_No messages or missed calls? Better make the most of it while it lasts._

He settled back into bed, propped himself up on his elbow and looked at his – boyfriend? Partner? ‘Significant other’?

_I’ll ask you which one you fancy later. Anything you like, as long as it makes it clear that other people have to keep their hands off you._

John looked younger when he was sleeping, with the lines smoothed out and his eyes closed. Greg could see hints of the young doctor and medical student from the photos on his wall. 

_Look at that innocent expression. I bet you were a wild one when you were a student. I should ask that uni mate – Mike? – if he’s got any good stories._

Being able to stare openly at John like this was a rare treat. He always seemed suspicious, as if he couldn’t think of any good reason why someone might want to just look at him. Greg had become a master of surreptitious glances and sideways looks.

_How old are you, anyway? Late thirties I’d guess, which means I’m at least ten years older than you. Not that it matters so much at our age, but still … Mind you, if we’re talking about life experience, then I think we might be even._

Greg’s eyes were drawn to the pale, shiny patch of scar tissue on John’s shoulder.

_One day, I’ll ask you about that._

He let his eyes drift further down John’s back. There was a mole just below John’s left shoulder-blade that he liked to kiss, and a small patch of fuzz in the small of John’s back that he suddenly wanted to lick.

This couldn’t be normal, this level of enthusiasm, could it? He couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt this strongly about someone before. He probably had, and the memory had just faded with time – still, he had a sneaking suspicion that this was unfamiliar territory. Every bit of John that he saw or touched made him want to fuck, as if there was a direct line from his eyes and hands to his cock. And it was getting worse as he uncovered more nooks and crannies. By this time next week, he‘d probably get hard if John flashed a nice bit of ankle.

The thought of waking John up for a shag was really quite tempting.

_I’d get up close behind you for a nice tight spoon. If I was lucky, you wouldn’t wake up straight away and I could take my time. I’d go for your neck, you love it when I kiss you there, it gets you hard so quickly, and the moment you opened your eyes I’d have your cock in my hand. God, I love a quick, dirty fuck first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t bother going for your arse – just stick my cock between your cheeks and fuck like that. ___

John made a quiet snuffling noise and Greg’s lusty plans were derailed by a rush of protective affection. 

_Oh, alright then, you lazy sod. I’ll let you sleep a bit longer. Maybe I can talk you into a nice wank later._

He yawned, stretched and decided to go for a shower. 

... 

Greg wandered downstairs in his t-shirt, boxer shorts and John’s dressing gown. He found Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table in pyjamas and a tatty dressing gown and frowning into a microscope.

“These toes are decaying much slower than I expected.”

“Good morning to you too,” said Greg, wishing John’s dressing gown was longer.

Sherlock looked up with a startled expression that rapidly resolved into one of irritation.

“Lestrade,” he drawled before turning his attention back to the microscope.

“Mind if I borrow your shower?”

Sherlock flapped one of his hands in dismissal. Greg took that as permission and wandered through to the bathroom.

...

Greg pinched a folded, clean-looking towel from the airing cupboard and balanced it on top of the towel rail before hopping in the shower. It was an old-fashioned shower attachment over a large Victorian bath, but the water was hot and there was plenty of it.

When he was thoroughly soaked, Greg surveyed the bottles balanced on the side before helping himself to the Tesco own-brand shower gel (he didn’t need to be a consulting detective to guess that the fancy shampoo belonged to Sherlock).

Speaking of, it occurred to Greg as he soaped himself up that getting serious with John meant re-considering the Sherlock position. Sherlock had made it clear from the beginning that he was extremely protective of his best (only?) friend and Greg had never known him to be good at sharing. 

Then again, he hadn’t voiced any observations about their sex-life when he saw Greg half-dressed just now, which was the Sherlock equivalent of getting out the best china.

_The trouble with Sherlock,_ Greg mused while rinsing himself off, _is that usually he’s a law unto himself. Doesn’t behave or react like most people, and you can’t expect him to or he’ll drive you up the wall. But not all of the time – now and then, not very often, he’s just like everyone else. He eats, he laughs, he has trouble giving up fags. And he has to put up with his flatmate bringing someone home who’s still hanging about in the morning, invading his space and generally getting in the way._

Greg scrubbed himself dry, whistling all the while, and re-dressed before striding back into the kitchen to embark on his diplomatic mission.

...

Sherlock didn’t appear to have moved. In fact, now Greg had woken up a bit, he realised that Sherlock looked like he’d been there for a while.

“Have you been up all night?”

Sherlock ignored him.

Greg filled the kettle, turned it on, and rooted around until he found three mugs and the tea-bags. “Interesting experiment?”

“Oh lovely, small talk.” Sherlock finally looked up. “If you must be here, you might as well make yourself useful. Toast.”

“Toast?”

“Toast. Bread’s in the fridge, don’t use the butter in the red dish. I have honey on mine.”

“Does he cut the crusts off for you as well?” muttered Greg as he made the tea.

There was no reply.

Five minutes later he placed a mug of tea and a plate of honey-covered toast at Sherlock’s elbow before carefully balancing the remaining mugs and plates on a tray and leaving the room.

The sound of contented crunching followed him up the stairs.

...

John yawned and sat up as Greg came into the room. The radio was on and he could make out the faint strains of ‘The Archers’.

“Breakfast in bed? I could get used to this.”

Greg put the tray down on John’s bedside table, shut the door and climbed into bed.

“Morning,” he said, kissing John’s temple. “Pass us a plate.”

John did as he was told. “You didn’t use the butter in the red dish, did you?”

Greg shook his head. “Do I want to know?”

“Not while you’re eating, no.”

They ate in peaceful silence in the dim light. The room was warming up quickly and it looked like a beautiful spring day was hiding on the other side of the curtains.

_And I could get used to this,_ thought Greg. _Even with the mad step-child downstairs_. 

He glanced sidelong at John and noticed that for once he hadn’t rushed to put a t-shirt on. It was nice, seeing him relaxed. 

John caught him looking and gave him a long, thoughtful look in return. He turned the radio off, then turned back to Greg and kissed him. 

“Do you even realise how handsome you are?” complained John as he clambered into Greg’s lap. “It’s _unfair_.” 

Greg couldn’t think what to say to that, as he was thoroughly distracted by the fact that John was now straddling him. Lovely naked John, who’d got his warm hands up Greg’s t-shirt and was _still bloody whingeing_. 

“Don’t even get me started on your face,” said John in between kisses. “Why do you have clothes on?” 

Greg's reply was blocked by his t-shirt being pulled impatiently over his head. He opened his mouth to try again when he was free, then let the air out in a rush as John started kissing his way down Greg’s chest. 

“Oh, I like where this is heading.” 

John shuffled to kneel in between Greg’s legs as he sucked first one nipple then the other, teasing the tight, sensitive buds until Greg was fully hard and vibrating with impatience. After licking his way down Greg’s treasure trail with broad swipes of his tongue, he pushed Greg’s legs further apart and slid back so that his bare arse stuck up in the air, striped by a beam of sunlight that had crept through a gap in the curtains. 

John ducked his head down and mouthed clumsily at Greg’s erection through the thin fabric of his boxer shorts. Greg stroked his thumb through the short hairs at the nape of John’s neck, resisting the urge to grab the back of John’s head. 

John wrapped his hand round Greg’s hard length and squeezed. 

Greg groaned. “Suck it.” 

John tugged Greg’s shorts down just enough so that his cock sprang free and took the plump head into his mouth. Greg grunted at the feeling of John’s warm, wet mouth, and he closed his eyes to savour the sensations. 

Even the twinge of underwear elastic against the base of his cock was a turn-on - it reminded him that he was getting sucked off with his pants still on because John couldn’t wait long enough to pull them all the way off. 

He opened his eyes and watched John’s fair head bobbing up and down - not taking much in each time, but stroking the shaft with strong, sure pulls. He had a look of concentration on his face and made greedy little noises as he licked and sucked, as if there was nothing in the world he wanted more than Greg’s come in his mouth, and the feeling of being _wanted_ hit Greg like a punch to the gut. 

He fought to keep his hips from thrusting up. 

“John,” he said, breathing heavily, “I’m going to come.” 

John said nothing but tightened his free hand where it was splayed on Greg’s thigh. Greg closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall as his orgasm finally crested and thumped through his body in a long, perfect pulse that left his toes tingling. 

He opened his eyes and looked down to see John wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a curious expression on his face. 

“C’mere,” he said, tugging at John’s arm. 

John crawled back up until he was sitting in Greg’s lap again, his erection bobbing wetly against Greg’s stomach. He hesitated. 

__Greg leant forward and kissed him deeply, one hand on the back of John’s head to keep him close. John smelt musky and tasted of come, and Greg didn’t give a flying fuck._ _

__Taking John’s hot, heavy cock in hand, Greg alternated slow strokes with a quick, tight rub that soon had John panting in his ear._ _

__“That’s it,” murmured Greg, his lips brushing against the inner curve of John’s ear. “Come on, give it to me.”_ _

__He sucked one finger of his free hand into his mouth then reached down, sliding between John’s buttocks to rub against his hole._ _

__John whimpered and hitched his hips forward, gripping Greg’s shoulders tightly._ _

__“God, you’re such a tart,” whispered Greg, stroking the tightly crinkled skin and pushing just the tip of his finger in. “You’re gagging for it, aren’t you?”_ _

__John gave a sharp moan and came. His heaving breaths were loud in the silence of the room._ _

__“Well,” said Greg eventually, his skin still tingling and come cooling on his chest. “That was nice.” His thighs were starting to go numb from John’s weight._ _

__John hummed in agreement as he stretched and climbed off Greg. He reached for his tea. “Still warm,” he said, gulping it down._ _

__“Oi, what are you saying?” Greg grabbed a tissue, wiped himself off and tucked his cock away._ _

__“That we’re efficient.”_ _

__John stretched out on his back next to Greg with his hands underneath his head._ _

__“Was that alright?” asked John._ _

__“Hm?” said Greg, his mind pleasantly foggy. “Yeah, it was fantastic. God, I haven’t had a blowjob in years.”_ _

__John didn’t respond for a moment and Greg kicked himself – John didn’t need to know the sad details of Greg’s past sex-life._ _

__“I’ve never given one before.”_ _

__Greg’s jaw dropped. “What, never?”_ _

__“Mm.” John had his eyes closed and there was a slight smile playing around his lips._ _

__Greg snorted. “No wonder you look pleased with yourself.”_ _

__John opened his eyes a crack and looked up at the ceiling. “Actually,” he said, “you’re the only man I’ve ever had sex with.”_ _

__Greg raised his eyebrows in disbelief._ _

__“ _Huh._ How did you manage that?”_ _

__John shrugged. “Opportunity never came up.”_ _

__“And you didn’t go looking for it.”_ _

__“And I didn’t go looking,” John confirmed with a nod._ _

__Greg could guess the rest, on the grounds of having lived it. Why be with a man and take all the flak that entailed when you could find a nice woman you liked just as much?_ _

__“Until now,” John added, looking up at Greg with his pretty eyes, sky-blue in the morning light._ _

__Greg couldn’t help himself grinning broadly._ _

__John burst into laughter. “Now who’s looking pleased with himself?”_ _

__“What? It’s a compliment.”_ _

__“True. You do realise that you didn’t actually turn me?”_ _

__Greg pouted ever so slightly._ _

__“Fine, if you want to be smug. You being so gorgeous tempted me to try playing for the other team, and your massive, masculine cock up my bum made me a fully committed bisexual.”_ _

__“Well, you’re only human.”_ _

__John smiled and closed his eyes. Greg sat there quietly, turning things over in his mind._ _

__“I take it you’re not exactly walking around waving a rainbow flag, then.”_ _

__“Sherlock knows,” said John defensively._ _

__“Sherlock knows about _everyone_. He doesn’t count.”_ _

__“I told him so it does count, actually. And my sister. What about you?”_ _

__“My family all know,” said Greg, thinking about it. “Mind you, it’s been so long that they’ve probably forgotten. Would you mind if I told people at the Yard about us?”_ _

__John blinked in surprise. “No. No, I don’t think so. Are you planning to?”_ _

__“Don’t know. I’d rather not bring my private life to work, to be honest, but if it comes up or someone asks then I don’t want to have to lie.”_ _

__“It’s up to you,” said John before yawning. “Would they have a problem with it?”_ _

__Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Truth was, he probably would have agreed to keep things quiet for John, even if he knew he’d regret it later._ _

__“Not that they’d dare say to my face. Anyway, I get plenty of grief for hanging round with you two as it is – I can cope.”_ _

__John hummed thoughtfully. “Good,” he said eventually, and soon fell asleep._ _

__Greg stayed sitting for a while. John’s lack of experience might have come as a surprise, to say the least, but it obviously wasn’t holding him back. More importantly, John – who found it suspicious when you asked him how his day was – had volunteered personal information for no other reason than he wanted to._ _

__Optimism washed over Greg, and conspired with the warm sun to make him feel pleasantly drowsy. He slid down under the duvet and let his eyes drift shut._ _

__..._ _

By the time they’d woken up for the second time, got dressed and made it downstairs, it was lunchtime and Greg was starving.

They found Sherlock lounging on the sofa. 

“How are the toes?” asked John.

Sherlock scowled at the ceiling. “Uncooperative.”

“Oh, shame” said John sympathetically. “Fancy a bit of lunch?”

Sherlock sighed. “Might as well. Of course, if I’ve died of boredom by then, don’t bother making any for me.”

“Want me to keep you company while John’s cooking?” offered Greg magnanimously. After all, he was blissfully happy and Sherlock was down in the dumps – it wouldn’t kill him to make a bit of conversation.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in Greg’s direction, giving every impression of it being a herculean effort. “I suppose you’ll do,” he said ungraciously. “How do you feel about Cluedo?”

“No,” interjected John hastily. “No, Greg does not want to play Cluedo.”

“I don’t mind,” said Greg, slightly puzzled by John’s reaction.

“Good, then that’s settled,” said Sherlock as he dragged himself up to a sitting position.

John gave him a worried look and stepped closer to Greg. “Are you sure about this?”

“I think I can handle a board game.”

John still looked concerned so Greg pulled him close for a kiss. It was so lovely that he couldn’t resist putting one hand in the small of John’s back and bending him over to do it properly.

“Put me back up _right now._ ” 

“Call me your hero and I will.” Greg ignored the rude noise behind him.

John closed his eyes, sighed dramatically and opened them. “My hero,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Greg kissed his nose and swung him back upright. “There you go, darlin’.”

John raised both eyebrows at him. It would have been more intimidating if a smile wasn’t tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m going to have a shower before I start on food,” he said, turning quickly and striding to the kitchen. “Please try not to kill each other.”

“Yes mum,” called Greg after him. “Where’s the box then?” he asked Sherlock.

“Bookshelf,” said Sherlock, not moving even slightly. “But the board is stabbed to the wall just above your head.”

Greg turned to see the handle of a large ornate dagger sticking out of a Cluedo board that did indeed appear to be stabbed to the wall. 

“Right,” he said, turning back to stare at Sherlock. “And what rule’s that under?”

Sherlock grinned with unholy delight.

...

By the time John emerged from the shower and started clattering around the kitchen, the Cluedo board had gone out the window and Greg’s patience had entirely disappeared.

“You’ve really taken ‘being an arse’ to a new level, did you know that?” said Greg, running his hands through his hair. He felt utterly frazzled and had the beginnings of a spectacular headache. 

Sherlock, back in position on the sofa, ignored Greg in favour of fiddling with his phone.

Greg collapsed into one of the armchairs and picked up a newspaper, shaking it out in a clear ‘do not disturb’ signal. He made it as far as page seven before something smacked against the paper and fell into his lap.

It was a mobile phone.

“Sherlock,” he said, trying to keep his temper. “Why have you chucked your-“ He paused and looked at it more closely. “This is my phone.”

“Of course it’s your phone,” said Sherlock without looking up. “I’ve finished with it.”

“What have you been doing with my phone?”

“Surprisingly little, all things considered. The Vauxhall case is an accidental death, by the way – ask the postman about next-door’s cat.”

Greg wasn’t particularly reassured by that.

“When did you even – did you pinch that while I was having a shower?”

“Obviously.”

“John was asleep.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Really not the point.”

Sherlock stretched out on the sofa and yawned. “And what is the point, exactly?”

Greg’s head throbbed. God knows what pinching his phone was meant to demonstrate, but Greg wasn’t having any of it.

“If this is about me and John, you can knock it off right now. I’m not getting into a pissing match with you. John makes his own decisions, and if you’ve got a problem with that, then you can take it up with him.”

Sherlock gave him a long look. “You’re on the rebound from your divorce, John’s barely out of the closet, and you’re both terrible at relationships. It won’t last.”

“Probably not.” Greg sat up straight and squared his shoulders for a fight.

Sherlock rolled over so that he was facing the back of the sofa and pulled his dressing gown over himself. “Tell John not to over-cook the spaghetti,” he called over his shoulder.

Greg stayed sitting in his chair as he stared at Sherlock’s back. After a few minutes of silence he pulled a face, got up and strolled through to the kitchen where his gorgeous, whingey, short-arse of a boyfriend was poking a saucepan full of boiling water with a fork.

“Oh hello,” said John as Greg wrapped his arms round him. “I’m surprised you lasted that long, to be honest.“

Greg nuzzled John’s damp hair. “It was fine. Sherlock and I had a really good talk.”

“Oh good,” said John after a pause. “That’s not worrying at all.”

“You worry too much. We’re all grown-ups.”

John snorted. “Right. Can you grab the mince out of the fridge?”

Greg did as he was told. 

“I mean it,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I think he approves of me.”

John turned the pasta down to a simmer and started browning the mince. “I’m not sure which is stranger – the fact that he approves, or the fact that you care.” 

As John stirred, his t-shirt lifted up just enough to show a sliver of bare skin. Greg pushed himself off the counter and stepped behind John, sneaking his hands under John’s t-shirt.

“I care about you,” he said, kissing John’s neck. “Do you approve of me?”

John sucked in a quick breath and stopped stirring. “God no. Terrible influence.”

“Quite right.” Greg pressed himself more firmly against John’s back and slid his hands down under the waistband of his jeans.

As John let his head fall back on Greg’s shoulder, Greg’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He bit back a swearword and stepped back to check the message.

_Average duration of sexual activity in men of your age is 7-12 minutes. Spaghetti will be al dente in five minutes. Unless you are confident of ejaculating prematurely, kindly postpone your fornication until after lunch. SH_

Greg sighed. “Sherlock can hear us.”

His phone buzzed again.

_There is no barrier between the living room and the kitchen, and I haven’t recently become deaf. Of course I can hear you. SH_

“Ah,” said John, adjusting himself. “Right. Sorry.“ He flashed an apologetic smile at Greg. 

“Don’t be,” said Greg as he opened cupboard doors in search of plates. “I knew what I was getting into.”

...

Ten minutes later they were all sitting at the kitchen table doing a reasonable impression of civilised people. 

Well, they were using cutlery.

“Good grief,” said Greg, staring at the human black hole that was Sherlock. “I can’t believe you’re on thirds. Did no-one feed you as a child?”

Sherlock carried on shovelling food into his mouth with single-minded intensity.

John frowned. “Did you eat at all yesterday?”

“You were out. So was Mrs Hudson.”

“As you somehow managed to get to thirty-three without the help of either of us, I think you’re probably capable of feeding yourself.”

Sherlock ignored him.

“Do you not get indigestion?” asked Greg, somewhat enviously, thinking of the packet of Rennies that had a permanent home in his desk drawer next to the nicotine patches.

Sherlock stopped eating and stared at him. “That’s it! The toes need to be dissolved in stomach acid. Oh, that’s perfect. I need to go to the morgue.” Sherlock leapt up from the table and disappeared into his bedroom.

Greg tried to convince himself that he hadn’t just heard that. 

While Greg was working on his state of denial, John got up and cleared their plates away. He covered Sherlock’s plate with cling-film, put it away in the fridge, pulled out a plastic box labelled ‘NOT FOOD’ and held it out.

Sherlock emerged from his room fully dressed and zoomed through the kitchen, grabbing the box on his way.

“Ta!” He shot out the front door.

The flat was suddenly very, very quiet.

There was a rush of water as John turned the tap on and started filling the kitchen sink with suds. Greg watched him wash the mugs and glasses that had accumulated by the side of the sink, and suddenly laughed out loud.

John turned around, looking startled. “What?”

“Nothing.”

John frowned at Greg.

“Alright, it’s just … you know how you and Sherlock are sort of an old married couple?”

John looked decidedly unimpressed. 

“Don’t look like that, that’s not what I mean. Anyway, it’s just that you two reminded me of me and Annie for a moment, and then I realised that I haven’t thought about her in days. That’s all.”

John’s expression cleared. He picked up a tea-towel and started drying the glasses.

“How long were you two together?”

Greg leant back in his chair. “Nearly twelve years, and married for ten.”

“You must have got engaged quite quickly.”

“We’d been dating a year,” said Greg. “But then we were only engaged six months. Much too short, looking back. Next time I’d wait longer.”

John blinked in surprise. ”You’d marry again?” 

Greg grinned, feeling mischievous. “Why, are you asking?”

John’s expression was calm as he flicked the tea-towel over his shoulder. “Not today.” He bent to put the glasses away.

_He’s a lunatic_ , thought Greg as he stared unabashedly at John’s arse. _An absolute grade-A loon._

_And he cooks and cleans, and I’m completely mad for him._

“I can wait.”


End file.
